


Always

by IcyPanther



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Amnesia, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Chases, Gen, Hurt Lance (Voltron), Hurt Pidge | Katie Holt, Hurt/Comfort, Lance (Voltron) Whump, Pidge | Katie Holt Angst, Protective Lance (Voltron), Protective Pidge | Katie Holt, Temporary Amnesia, Undercover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:21:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25310779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcyPanther/pseuds/IcyPanther
Summary: Pidge and Lance are on an undercover mission to retrieve supplies they desperately need for their journey back to Earth. Despite the odds everything seems to be going in their favor; Lance is charming the local gang and Pidge is hidden away as backup and they arethisclose to calling it a success.And then everything goes wrong.Not only are the gang members now hunting them, Lance has been poisoned and its affecting his memory. Pidge somehow has to keep them both alive until rescue comes, a feat made more difficult by the minute as Lance forgets first short term details, then the mission, and now... now he’s forgotten her. But no matter what happens Pidge knows she’ll protect Lance and he will protect her.  Always.
Relationships: Lance & Pidge | Katie Holt
Comments: 54
Kudos: 243





	Always

**Author's Note:**

> **Timeline notes:** Early-mid season seven (while en route back to Earth)  
>  **Warning notes:** A little blood, minor violence and Pidge’s potty mouth

Pidge shifted uneasily from where she had sequestered herself in the rafters of the building and it wasn’t from the precarious position.

She didn’t like this.

She didn’t like this at all.

There were eleven members of the Blue Blood Alliance down there with Lance and while he might be smiling and displaying none of the unease she felt, he was far outnumbered and one wrong word, one misstep…

She swallowed heavily and tightened her hand on her bayard, already linked with the transmitter she and Hunk had created and ready to cast a crystal pulse to disable the gang members’ weapons, so they could then grab the scaultrite and book it if things went south. 

“ _—horns have such a nice shine,”_ Lance echoed in her comms and despite it all Pidge rolled her eyes. God was he putting the flattery on thick. “ _Just as shiny as that scaultrite you’re selling, am I right?”_

She held her breath. 

This was it.

Nearly three hours later after Lance had charmed and bribed his way into the Blue Blood Alliances headquarters while she stayed out of sight, ran interference, and whispered codes and numbers and everything a collector of rare minerals would need to know into his comm and did anything and everything to throw off suspicion that they wanted it for any other means because these Blue Bloods were _ruthless_ but they were the only ones in the quadrant who might have it and they _desperately_ needed it. The Lions were on their last reserves and they still had months to travel to Earth.

They needed this so bad.

Lance had been elected to go as out of them all he was the best they had for getting things they needed. Even Allura, with all her diplomacy and skills, fell short in this sort of situation. Politicians and royalty yes, but street thugs and mafia type? Not so much.

Pidge had gone too to provide the backup support both offensively and for the above tech and information and, if she did say so herself, her stealth skills were off the charts. Only Keith could rival her and as much as he’d protested he should go since this was dangerous he’d been shot down as he didn’t have the tech skill.

Pidge almost wished she hadn’t insisted she was the best choice. Her blood pressure couldn’t take this.

But it was almost over. Lance would buy the scaultrite and they could get off Zlato, the horrible planet they were on in which its sun blocked outgoing communication signals and perhaps one of the reasons why the mafia had set up local shop and ran the place, and continue on their journey to Earth.

_Home._

She couldn’t hear the alien’s response and there was no outward reaction from Lance but his words sent ice into her veins.

“ _I assure you, I have no associates with me. I couldn’t trust them with something of this… finesse.”_

They knew.

They knew she was here.

How?

She’d been so fucking _careful._

Pidge shifted her finger onto the detonate for the pulse. Should she set it off? She was supposed to wait for Lance’s signal — code word ‘lime’ of all things — but he had yet to say it and doing so without his readiness could turn out for the worse. The gang members had weapons other than crystal driven guns and Lance was still easily within harm’s way. 

Still…

“Lance,” she barely breathed his name. “We n—”

She was cut off as a hand wrapped about her mouth from behind and the shriek she gave was one of both surprise, fear and disgust as it was _rancid,_ not that the sound traveled anywhere.

She twisted her head, trying to make out the assailant while at the same time raising her bayard because fuck it she was going to shoot _something,_ but whoever was behind her had more than two hands as suddenly there were hands on the bayard, on her waist, in her hair and she let out another muffled scream and kicked and twisted and did everything she could to break free.

Her screw grew in volume as she toppled off the beam, still wrapped up in the alien’s appendages, and they fell through open air, _hurtling_ towards the floor of the warehouse.

She was going to die.

She was going to fucking die.

But to her surprise and relief she did not go splat.

Unfortunately neither did the alien as he seemingly caught them out of their freefall on _more_ hands she saw shooting off, extending from already there limbs, and her stomach turned in a way that the fall had nothing to do with.

It turned again as she caught Lance’s gaze.

His face gave nothing away, somehow impassive, but his eyes.

God.

His eyes were horrified. 

“We have eyes everywhere,” the main alien Lance had been speaking with, a huge brute like one with a giant spiked tail that swished with almost feline grace behind him despite its size, “and we saw a little something that peaked our interest. Does it peak yours, Golden Eye?”

“I’ve never seen that person before in my life,” Lance’s voice was even and there wasn’t even the faintest hint of amusement that hearing his code name ( _“You’re not James Bond,” Pidge had protested to which Lance had retorted, “Of course I am. James Bond is handsome, suave, charming, all of which I most certainly am, not to mention my cover literally eyes gold and rare objects” and Pidge had let it go with an eye roll and admittedly a chuckle after she was sure Lance couldn’t see)._

“Oh?” the tail flicked again. “Then I suppose if we were to,” — and the alien still wrapped around Pidge _squeezed_ and she gasped as not only her throat constricted but something cold pressed to her head and she couldn’t reach the trigger on her bayard to kill it before it… before it… “—you would not complain?”

Lance said nothing.

Pidge could make out the fact his hand had come to rest on his bayard concealed beneath his cloak. She knew it wouldn’t be enough; not to transform it into a bayard and shoot before they killed her.

What did they do?

Her eyes searched out Lance’s but he wasn’t looking at her.

“Very well.” The alien grinned displaying rows upon rows of fangs. “Kill the intruder.”

She felt the moment the gun heated to a charge, previous chill now hot.

Last chance.

Her hand strained for her bayard trigger but the alien’s were too large and had hers trapped where they were.

She couldn’t reach it.

She was going to…

To…

“Stop,” Lance took a step forward. “Stop. She’s with me.”

“She?” the leader parroted and a different sort of chill went down Pidge’s spine as dark eyes turned in her direction. “Well, well. This certainly changes things now, doesn’t it? Let’s see what we’re working with.”

And Pidge could do _nothing_ as more hands tore at her own cloak, shredding it and the hood and leaving her in just her underarmour suit. She knew she didn’t have much of a figure, nothing like Allura, but it was still enough for wolf whistles and she felt her cheeks darken at the insinuation of what they wanted.

God.

She really, really hated this mission.

“Let. Her. Go,” Lance’s voice had dropped dangerously.

Pidge had never heard him like that.

It was both terrifying and… and comforting.

“I have a new trade to propose, Golden Eye,” the gang leader smirked. “You walk out of here alive and I keep the girl and your gold. Generous, isn’t it, after you tried to doublecross me?”

“Let her go,” Lance repeated. “ _Now.”_

“You’re in no position to make demands,” the alien scoffed. “You are outnumbered, outgun—”

There was a flash of light and a moment later Lance’s rifle was in his hands and pointed directly at the leader.

“Not so outgunned now, am I?” Lance had the gall to shoot a smirk at the gang leader although Pidge could see it wasn’t in any sort of jest. 

It was an act. 

She hadn’t seen the shows of bravado, of overconfidence, in a while, and it struck her at how… how _fake_ they were. How much she hated seeing them on Lance. 

But despite that mask she knew one thing without a doubt.

Lance wasn’t going to let anything happen to her.

She relaxed ever so in the tight hold and she could feel the alien shifting behind her to keep her contained in the new slouch and her eyes widened as with the new grip her hand was able to reach the bayard trigger for the crystal pulse. 

Fuck yes.

“Now how about you let her go, I walk out of here alive _and_ I take that scaultrite,” Lance inclined his head ever so to the bag on the table. 

The gang leader bristled and Pidge smirked behind the alien’s hand. They’d searched Lance when he’d come in, she’d seen it, and he’d played off his bayard as being a device to test the authenticity of the scaultrite. It was why they likely had yet to pull hers from her hand as it didn’t _look_ like a weapon.

It’d be their last mistake.

“You think you can shoot me before we kill your spy?” the leader asked, seemingly unperturbed by the gun trained on him. 

“You? Yeah,” Lance said. “All of you? Probably not. So it’s a good thing,” his eyes flicked to meet Pidge’s, dark ocean tones somehow warm, “I’m not shooting anyone.”

She would infer that as being a signal.

Pidge pressed the switch at the same time Lance’s bayard glowed again, switching from his gun (that did require crystal power to work and wasn’t exempt like her own bayard keyed into the transmitter) to his broadsword.

The gun next to her went dark as did every weapon, raised and trained on Lance, in an instant.

So did the overhead lights.

There was a moment of silent stillness as everyone stared into the gloom, only the faint sunlight from tinted windows set high above piercing the darkness.

Then Lance _moved._

Pidge did too.

Her elbow found a home in the alien’s gut and her bayard shot to life as a shock katar right against the large fists; just a quick jolt so she didn’t get herself too but it was enough as the previously silent alien _screamed_ and stumbled away. 

“There she is!” came a shout to Pidge’s left.

In hindsight maybe the shock katar hadn’t been the smartest plan.

What followed was a clang of metal on metal; Lance sliding in next to her and blocking the sword one gang member had pulled.

“Go!” he yelled.

Pidge angled herself for the table, easily slipping beneath slow-witted aliens who were bumbling about in the dark and trying to find useable weapons, and grabbed the scaultrite. 

She then promptly swung it around and at the alien who had tried to grab her shoulder and he let go with a shout.

“Lance!” she called out, already making a break for the far wall as had been their plan if things went south. She skidded to a halt, fumbling her bayard to a grappling hook while still holding onto the scaultrite. 

Another hand grasped at her upper arm but this one she didn’t fight off.

“Hold on,” she gasped as Lance encircled her from behind, his hold nearly strangling her. 

She heard a roar behind them, felt a rush of air and a dull _thud_ that had to be Lance’s sword striking something not metal and she could feel his breath hitch. 

As her bayard lit up she to retract she caught sight of the gang leader, his tail swinging around and blood streaming from it, matching color on Lance’s sword, for a second hit.

They lifted off a tick later, shooting up the wall and Lance gasped again as he pivoted them in mid air, drove his bloodied sword through the window followed by his shoulder, and they fell through it in a shattering of broken glass. 

Lance had taken the brunt of the hit but even so Pidge let out a soft cry as glass sliced against her arm, extended and outside Lance’s protection as she propelled them down.

“Pidge,” Lance sounded panicked as they landed with a stumble. “You’re—”

“Go!” she slapped his hands away. 

They didn’t have time for this and it didn’t feel too deep. 

She was fine.

She hoped he was fine too.

Lance didn’t argue except to yank the bag of scaultrite from her, sword unsheathed in his other hand, and nodded for her to take the lead.

Pidge pressed her now free hand to the wound, hissed at the contact and the sensation of hot blood welling beneath her fingers, and took off at a sprint. 

They flew through alleys, avoiding the main streets, and Pidge grapple hooked them once more up a building, landing on a flat roof with a high ledge.

It was there they halted, chests heaving and the sounds of their breaths mingling with the marketplace chatter down below.

There were no sounds of pursuit.

They’d done it.

A few bumps and snags and her arm really _really_ hurt and she knew it would hurt even more as the high of adrenaline faded, but the mission had been a success.

Pidge caught Lance’s eye and grinned and he matched it although his gaze drifted to her arm, expression sobering, and Pidge followed it.

“We need to bandage that.” And before Pidge could even say anything he was ripping his outer cloak off.

It revealed a fucking _spike_ sticking out of Lance’s shoulder like a sick flag.

“Holy shit!” Pidge’s mouth dropped. “Lance what the _fuck?”_

“What?” he asked, looking momentarily surprised and Pidge could only make a vague gesture towards her own shoulder in indication.

Lance craned his head back and his eyes widened. 

“Oh.”

“Oh,” Pidge parroted. 

She scrambled towards him holding her own wound still and climbed to her knees to get a better visual. It was definitely some sort of spike that looked familiar but she couldn’t—

Pidge sucked in a sharp breath.

The gang leader’s tail. 

And it wasn’t just one spike. There were a total of _four_ punched into Lance’s shoulder and down his back, red blood dripping down and, she frowned, some sort of brownish colored fluid.

The alien’s blood? It matched the colored ichor on Lance’s bayard, still clutched in his hand. 

“Why the fuck didn’t you say something?” she demanded, mind frantically trying to remember the exact design of the spike; had it curved where pulling it would hurt him more? Barbed?

“I, I didn’t realize…” Lance trailed off. He gave her a tiny smile. “Um, they don’t hurt?”

“They don’t hurt?” Pidge repeated incredulously. How the fuck was that possible? They were at least a couple inches deep and even adrenaline couldn’t push that kind of pain at bay for long, especially now that he’d noticed them. 

Lance just gave a shake of his head. 

Pidge decided that probably wasn’t a good thing. There might be some sort of sedative in them — the brown liquid? — and while she was grateful Lance wasn’t in pain from it they could not afford for him to go unconscious. They still had to make it nearly two more hours until their scheduled pickup as parking a Lion on the planet was far far too dangerous. 

“I’m going to pull them out,” she decided. “Just give me a tick to take care of mine.” Cross-contamination would be very, very bad and her hand was bloody.

“Pidge!” Lance gasped as she reached for the cloak he’d been prepared to rip up. “You’re hurt!”

“No shit, Sherlock,” she rolled her eyes. “But I’ve still got nothing on you. Don’t move,” she nearly growled it as Lance reached for his cloak to assist her. “We don’t know if movement makes it worse.”

Lance stilled and fell silent although the concerned expression didn’t dim in the slightest as he stared at her arm.

“It’s not that deep,” Pidge comforted as Lance seemed far more worried about her over the fact he had giant spikes in him. 

It really wasn’t and as she tentatively examined it before, wiping up dripping blood before she secured the bandage, it looked like a clean cut too. It could have been much worse but this was manageable. 

She’d just finished, wiping her hands clean on another piece of cloth, when Lance sucked in a harsh breath.

She jerked her head up, expecting there to be an enemy, for Lance to have keeled over, but he was sitting same as before and staring at her with horrified concern. “Pidge, you’re hurt!”

A cold shiver went down Pidge’s back as she met dark ocean eyes.

Lance was genuinely horrified.

Like… like he had just realized she was injured. 

“Yes,” she said slowly. “And… and so are you.”

Lance’s eyes grew wider. “What?” 

And he glanced at his _arm_ like hers rather than his back where he’d recently found he was a human pincushion.

The cold shiver turned into something more. 

Lance was… was forgetting things, short term memory, she’d hazard.

And the cause? There was only one she could think of.

Those spikes needed to go.

_Now._

Pidge surged to her feet and was at Lance’s side in a blink. 

“Pidge, what are you—?”

He let out a choked cry as Pidge yanked up on the largest spike in his shoulder.

There was no time to be gentle.

And as she had feared, in addition to the crimson smeared along the spike there was that dark brown color and it was concentrated at the tip of the spike.

Some sort of secretion.

Poison?

Lance was poisoned?

“P-Pidge,” Lance gasped, hands braced on the ground in front of him and his entire body shaking. It highlighted the spikes still quivering in him and Pidge saw in the sunlight filtering through that they were more translucent at the top and darker towards the tip that was inside Lance.

They were filled with something.

And they were draining into Lance.

Holy _fuck._

“Hold still,” was all she was capable of saying as she braced a hand on Lance’s back and wrapped her other around another spike; this one just an inch from Lance’s spine. 

Lance let out another short cry.

Pidge hated that sound.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she whispered as she went for the third spike. “Hang on. Almost done.”

The third and fourth spikes weren’t as deep and she pulled them without much effort, dumping them on the roof with a low clatter, and then hurriedly picking up more remnants of the cape and pushing it against Lance’s back where blood was now streaming from the open wounds. 

She could feel Lance violently shaking and a low moan escaped him as she pressed down harder. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered again. 

“‘S… ‘s okay,” Lance managed.

It really wasn’t but Pidge let him have it. 

She focused on stopping the bleeding for now, grateful that as deep as they were the injuries weren’t that wide and already the bleeding was slowing and she pressed more cloth to it to help clot. 

That was something she could control.

Short term memory loss was clearly something the —- venom? She’d go with venom as it was an injection over anything else — was affecting, which was part of the… the…

Pidge wracked her own brain trying to remember the specific sections of memory; she’d researched it once upon a time when she got into robotics but she’d put it on hold after Matt had gone missing and then after Rover… well, she hadn’t tried again. 

Hippocampus! She gave a decisive nod. Yes. Hippocampus was responsible for short term memory.

The question was… how short term were they talking? Lance couldn’t seem to remember she was injured which put him at at least the last fifteen minutes. 

Longer?

“Lance,” she tried to keep her voice steady. “What are we doing on this planet?”

“Um…” he shifted, trying to look over his shoulder at her and she pressed harder on his back and he stopped. “We’re… getting scaultrite?”

“And your code name?”

“Golden Eye… Um, why are you asking me this?” His mouth dropped. “Pidge, did you forget the mission?”

Pidge let out a snort and shook her head. God, the irony. 

But it looked like it was just a few minutes of the past fifteen or so, probably once Lance got hit with the tail. She could work with that until they got picked up and had Coran analyze the spike and its venom and come up with either an antidote or see if even just ran its course after time.

“Just testing you,” she tried for a smirk. “What’s our next step?”

“Get to the relay point,” Lance said. 

“Good,” Pidge nodded. “We should—”

She broke off as a noise different from the marketplace chatter sounded, a sort of _thunking_ noise from the alley side.

Someone was climbing the building. 

“Shh!” she hissed as Lance tried to inquire. She gathered her bayard and crept towards the roof edge and quickly peered over.

The ugly face of a gang member with a quivering pig-like snout looked back. 

Pidge acted on instinct, reaching over and smashing her bayard into the alien’s face and the _crunch_ of broken cartilage music to her ears.

He fell backwards with a scream.

Pidge didn’t wait around to see what happened next; there was no way no one had heard that and they’d be swarmed soon.

“We have to go,” she hurried back to Lance’s side, who had gotten into a crouch rather than standing as he was too tall and would be spotted from the ground. “They found us.”

“Okay,” Lance inclined his head. “But… who found us?”

Pidge stumbled on her next step.

What?

“The gang members. Remember?”

Please, please remember.

Lance looked confused. “But I thought we wanted them to find us? Shouldn’t we—” he went to stand and Pidge yanked him by his collar back down. 

“No!” God, no. Lance was… “We, we got the scaultrite,” she jangled the back she’d scooped up and affixed to her belt and prayed he didn’t catch the slip.

“Whatttt?” he drawled the word, gaze darting from her face to the bag. “When did we—?”

“Not now,” she grabbed his wrist, tugging him to follow. “I’ll explain later.”

Right now she had to get them to safety. 

And then…

Then she could figure out how bad this was.

Lance fortunately didn’t argue, following her with only a low groan and the briefest flash of light as his bayard morphed back to carrying form as the effects from the pulse had expired. 

She didn’t dare use the stairs down from the roof as the building was likely going to be surrounded, but instead directed them to the far side of the building and extended her bayard across as a grappling hook. 

“You need to hold on tight,” she told him. 

It was going to hurt; both her arm and his back. 

Lance did so though, and thankfully not the stranglehold of before, and Pidge brought them across the nearly thirty foot gap. 

“Hurry,” she gasped as the hit the next roof and she made for its far side. They needed to get down and out of sight before the gang members climbed up and saw them. Lance secured himself at her back once more and she rapelled them down. If the circumstances hadn’t been what they were Pidge may have been impressed by how seamless it all was considering they were both hurt.

“In here,” she tugged him towards the back of a market stall that looked like it sold rugs and its shopkeeper not present in the storeroom. She needed to bandage Lance as she had no doubts the alien had tracked them up the roof by scent and their blood, metallic and strong even to her nose, had to be sending out quite the signal. Lance had fortunately had the foresight to grab his cloak and Pidge folded what remained of it into a thicker compress and managed to wrap it twice around him before knotting it snugly on his chest. Lance tried twice to talk to her and she shushed him both times.

She just…

Just needed a moment to _think._

“Okay,” she sat back on her heels. “Done. How does it feel?”

“Tight?” Lance displayed this by taking a breath and the cloth strained. 

“Your back, Lance,” Pidge clarified. “Does it hurt?”

“...a little,” Lance admitted when Pidge’s eyes narrowed. “Really, it’s not bad. But, uh…” 

Pidge knew it was coming.

She still wasn’t ready.

“How did I get hurt again?”

Pidge took a breath, steadying herself.

“You were hit by the gang leader’s tail and he embedded several spikes,” she held up one of the two she’d collected and thrown in the scaultrite bag, “into you. I… I think they’re venomous and your short term memory is being affected.”

And it seemed to be growing longer in progression.

“That doesn’t sound good,” and despite the words Lance tried for a smile.

To comfort _her._

God.

“It’s not,” she said bluntly. Lance’s smile wavered. “But… but it’s going to be okay.”

“You gonna take care of me, Pidgeon?” Lance teased, but just like in the standoff she could hear the touch of fear behind the words. 

“Always.”

Lance’s cheeks colored ever so at the passionate answer. 

“We’ve got about two hours to go until our pick up,” Pidge moved on, feeling her own face darken but she wouldn’t take it back. Lance wasn’t just a friend, he was family, and she would always protect her family. “The gang is tracking us by scents so we need to mask ours as best we can.” She cast her eyes around the tent, landing on an urn with incense sticks sticking out of it. Perfect. 

She crossed to them and lifted them out, nose wrinkling at the strong saffron scent, but held them out to Lance. “Here. Rub this on your clothes.” 

Lance grimaced slightly, but did so as Pidge rolled them all over herself. 

“We do need to keep moving,” Pidge continued. “It’ll probably take us nearly that whole time to reach the rendevous since we can’t go through the main marketplace.”

Lance cocked his head. “Why not?”

Pidge stared. 

Had he already forgotten—?

“We should blend in,” Lance said. “They won’t be looking for us in plain sight, right? If we can find some disguises…”

That…

That was actually a pretty good idea. 

“We’ll need some robes,” Pidge nodded. “Nothing here—”

“You mean you don’t want to wear a rug?” Lance teased.

“—that we can use so we’ll need to head for either for a residential area or nick some from a shop.”

Lance’s grin slipped. “That’s stealing,” he said softly.

“We stole the scaultrite,” she pointed out. “But,” she continued hurriedly before Lance could ask about that again, “we have the money from that. We’ll leave it for the clothes.”

Lance’s smile came back. 

Pidge rolled her eyes but inside she smiled too; it was sweet how even here in this situation Lance didn’t want to steal. 

“Come on,” Pidge got up. “We should go.”

Lance moved more stiffly than Pidge was used to seeing but he was on his feet and scouted out their exit, Pidge letting him do so without complaint as his eyes were some of the sharpest she knew of. He gestured for her to come and she slipped out with him into the small alley that ran behind the shops and they turned as one to sneak down it. It would be far, far easier to snatch something from the market but only if it was readily available. 

They passed a spice stall, a furniture shop and a candle tent before Lance came to a sudden halt and Pidge barely refrained from crashing into him.

“What?” she whispered, peering around him.

Had they been spotted?

But there was no one in the back alley with them.

“Where are we going?” Lance asked, brow creased. 

Pidge’s stomach sank. 

“Clothing stall, remember?” she tried, hoping it would jog his memory.

Lance just stared blankly.

“We need to get disguises.”

“...why?” Lance and slowly. He looked around them, frown growing. “And where are we exactly?”

Pidge’s breath caught.

No.

He couldn’t…

He couldn’t have just lost their entire day.

“Where do you think we are?” she asked instead.

“Um… shopping?”

God.

Oh God.

“We’re on a mission,” Pidge fought to keep her voice even. “And you’re experiencing short term memory loss.”

“I am?” Lance’s lips quirked up then. “I guess I wouldn’t remember that, huh?”

Pidge couldn’t share his smile and Lance’s slowly dimmed. 

“Things… things are going to be confusing,” Pidge said. “So… so I need you to trust me, okay?”

Lance smiled again then, but a soft version that met his eyes. “Always.”

Pidge’s breath caught. That was just what she’d… but he couldn’t…

“Pidge?” Lance cocked his head at her response. “Are… you okay?”

“Fine,” she choked out. “Fine. Just… just stick close to me.”

“Like an annoying shadow,” Lance grinned and he knocked her gently with her shoulder. 

“You’re taking this rather well,” she said dryly, calmed despite herself by Lance’s demeanor.

“Well, I’ve got you looking out for me,” Lance said easily. “And I know you’ll find a way to fix this,” he he tapped his head. 

Pidge’s eyes felt hot and she blinked quickly. “Come on,” she gave Lance a nudge. “Time to go.”

The next forty minutes passed by relatively smoothly minus Lance halting a couple times to question where they were going and why they were creeping around in alleys and once when Pidge was pulling them up and over a building on her bayard after their line of shops revealed no useful clothing stalls.

They found a sort of run-down apartment complex not too far away that had clothes drying outside the window and they wrapped themselves head to toe; Lance ending up in a brown and red cloak and Pidge in blues, yanking the hoods down to conceal their faces, and leaving behind a large sum of GAC on the windowsill. They were lucky; Zlato, despite being run by the local gang, was a large trading hub and aliens of all shapes and sizes visited and they didn’t stand out. 

That didn’t mean Pidge was taking chances.

She kept having to pull Lance to face into shops or duck down an alley as the gang members were out in droves in the marketplace and there were _far_ more than had been in the warehouse. They were hunting and Pidge and Lance were their prey.

Lance, unfortunately, was pretty useless on the scouting front now as not only could he not remember they were supposed to be in hiding he couldn’t remember for more than a few minutes at a time what the gang members — wearing a blue blood drop insignia for the Blue Blood Alliance — looked like. Still, the market route was saving them valuable time and was still ultimately safer as the back alleys were starting to _swarm_ with gang members. They were less than a half mile from the rendezvous now and at this pace should easily be able to make it.

Even if they did have to keep stopping.

“Turn,” Pidge hissed hand in a death grip on Lance’s arm to keep him from wandering off again — he’d thought they were shopping again and had been distracted by a jewelry stand, only mentioning “shiny” and “Allura” before Pidge could stop him — and she forcibly pivoted them into a jewelry stall to avoid an oncoming bear-like Blue Blood member. 

“Yes, you can browse,” Pidge whispered as Lance took a step and then froze. “Look natural.” 

Lance didn’t move. 

“Lance, shop,” Pidge shoved him towards a stand of bangles as the shopkeeper gave them a suspicious look. 

Lance picked one up and made a show of holding it up and the shopkeeper turned back to his other customer. 

“Um, I don’t mean to be rude,” Lance whispered as Pidge joined him, sifting through a box of loose rings without any interest. “But… who are you?”

Pidge’s stomach plummeted.

No. 

That…

That was impossible.

“That’s not funny, Lance,” she whispered back, praying it was some joke except that Lance wasn’t cruel. 

And as she looked up and caught his eye there was nothing deceitful in his gaze. 

He really had no idea who she was.

Which meant…

This was not just short term memory loss anymore. 

“I’m really sorry,” Lance said quietly. “I really don’t know who you are. Are…” he swallowed and his cheeks darkened. “Are we on a date?”

Pidge wished she could laugh instead of cry. Instead what came out was a sort of choked sounding, wet sob.

This…

This couldn’t be happening.

Lance had…

He’d _forgotten_ her.

That meant he’d forgotten Voltron. And space. And, and _everything._

What if they couldn’t fix it?

What if this was…?

She felt her eyes watering and Lance’s expression morphed to one of panic.

“Oh _Dios,_ I’m so sorry, please don’t cry,” he reached for her and Pidge took a step back.

Lance’s hand fell to his side. 

What did she say?

What did she do?

“Is there a problem here?” came a gruff voice and Pidge jerked her head over, realizing they’d drawn the shopkeeper’s eyes again. 

“No,” Pidge managed, voice still thick. She swallowed. “No. Everything is fine.”

Nothing was fine. 

The shopkeeper cast a dark look at Lance, who only stared back with wide eyes and a dropped jaw.

That’s right.

It would be his first time “seeing” an alien. 

“It’s fine,” Pidge repeated and she placed her hand against Lance’s upper arm, shooting what she hoped was a convincing smile. “He just… just has horrible taste in jewelry I like.” 

“Whoops, my bad, Lance said, dropping the bangles with a clatter and shooting a self-depreciating smile at the shopkeeper with a shrug. “I can’t believe I forgot that. Too clunky, y’know?” he winked. “She’s more of a, er,” his eyes landed on what Pidge had been looking at. “Ring kinda girl.” The shopkeeper let out a snort, shook his head, and walked away.

Pidge was floored. Even now, completely thrown for a loop with no idea who she was, where he was, and aliens to boot, he was able to charm and act. 

When he turned back to Pidge though the smile was gone and she could see the uncertainty in his eyes. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Where are we? How… how do you know me?”

“Come here,” she whispered, pulling him further along the counter. “I’ll explain.”

Again.

But this time hurt worse than any other one before.

Lance had forgotten her. 

“My name is Pidge,” she said softly, knowing it wouldn’t matter in a little while. He’d forget her again.

And again.

Would he ever remember?

Could he?

Could they fix this?

“We’re…” she swallowed, blinking back hot tears and Lance made a concerned, soothing noise in the back of his throat. “We’re friends. Really g-good friends.” Family, she added silently, the word stuck. “And, and you’ve been poisoned. You’re forgetting things.Short term memory and now… now longer term.”

Which meant the venom had spread from just the hippocampus. It had to be affecting frontal and temporal cortexes of his brain. But given the fact Lance was still talking and walking and able to recall essentially how to function his procedural memory was still intact and that meant his cerebellum , basal ganglia , motor cortex had not been infected.

Yet.

And…

Pidge felt a blossom of hope.

And it was possible that his emotional memory was still intact. His reaction to seeing her in distress and the way he had so quickly covered for her and protected her indicated that those long term memories associated with emotion were still there. 

Lance was still Lance, even if he couldn’t remember.

It was comforting, in a way. Lance was forgetting details but…

But he would still protect her. 

“Are you helping me, Pidge?” Lance asked softly, dark ocean eyes looking deep into honey brown.

“Of course,” she reached forward, grasping onto his hand and relieved when he squeezed it back. She knew how important touch and contact was to Lance, how much comfort it brought. “Of course. We’re trying to get back to our team, but… but some bad people are after us. They hurt you. The—”

“They hurt you too,” Lance interrupted her, eyes going to the now visible bandage as her cloak shifted. His eyes met hers. “I won’t let them do it again. I’ll protect you.”

The words were clear and strong and burned with promise.

Pidge’s eyes burned with tears anew. 

“I… I don’t remember you,” Lance continued. “But…” he squeezed her hand. “I feel… I feel like you’re important to me. Really important.”

“You’re really important to me too,” Pidge whispered. “And I’ll protect you. I’ll fix this. I promise.”

“I know,” Lance smiled at her.

“We need to get moving,” Pidge said after letting the moment linger, looking past Lance. “We’ve been here for—”

She broke off.

The shopkeeper was gone. 

So was the hum of the marketplace, the silence now deafening and how had she not noticed it before?

Her spine prickled.

The gang members had found them.

“They’re here,” she whispered, pulling her bayard out and switching it to the katar. Lance let out a soft whoa. “You have one too,” she told him and Lance’s left hand went instinctively to his hip where his bayard was clipped to his belt.

He sucked in a breath. “What do I—?”

Anything else he said was drowned out by gunfire and Pidge didn’t even have a chance to blink before Lance was tackling her to the ground as lasers whizzed overhead. 

She coughed as dirt and dust swam up her nose, but behind that there was a shaper, more acidic scent.

Smoke.

The blasts had caught the stall on fire. 

She twisted her head around, seeking out Lance.

He looked scared.

He looked confused; the short term memory was wiping out again. 

But as his eyes met hers she saw _him:_ Protection and courage and determination and kindness.

His eyes tracked up, watching the colored laser streaks, frown pulling at his face. 

“Lance,” Pidge choked out. “Sh-shoot.”

“Shoot?” he repeated, nearly shouting in her ear to be heard over both kinds of fire. “With what?”

“That!” she nudged his hip with her foot, pushing the bayard into his stomach. She felt Lance wriggle, shifting it out from beneath him.

“But this isn’t a g—”

Bright light filled the tent and a moment later Pidge could feel a blaster resting across her back. 

The outside barrage stopped. They had no doubt seen the light too and after the stunt back in the warehouse they knew what it meant.

And any minute they’d be coming in, armed to the teeth and shielded against the fire while she and Lance were sitting ducks, her bayard not good for multiple opponents and inoperable as she was pushed to the floor by Lance.

“I… I don’t know how to…”

The tent flap lifted and three aliens appeared, holding large blasters, and clearly no longer seeking either of them alive.

“Shoot!” Pidge screamed as all three barrels turned in their direction as the gang members caught sight of them. 

Pidge’s ears echoed with the sound of the blast, shot right above her.

The bright beam struck dead center in one gang member’s chest and he collapsed.

The other two followed before they could even react.

Perfect shots.

“I…” Lance sounded shaky. “I, I don’t know what…”

He looked like he was about to be sick, his entire body trembling.

“They’re stunned,” Pidge told him, nearly tripping over the words and she didn’t know if they were true but they were what Lance needed to hear. This was not a Paladin of Voltron who had had to face war and sometimes make that call, like it or not. This was a scared, innocent boy _terrified_ by what he’d just done and the ease with which he’d done it. “They’re stunned, you didn’t kill anyone. It’s okay. It’s okay, Lance.”

The stall opened again, gang members charging at the sound of gunfire, and Lance’s bayard lit up the scene once more before anyone could even pull their own trigger. 

Lance continued to shake above her as four more bodies hit the floor.

“Lance,” Pidge shifted, trying to catch his eye. “Lance, look at me.”

He did, pupils pinpricked.

“You’re, you’re protecting me. Okay? Everything is gonna be okay, Lance. I promise. I promise.”

“But… but, I…”

Pidge reached a hand up, managing to brush dirty fingers against Lance’s cheek. “Trust me,” she whispered.

The worst of the fear vanished in an instant from Lance’s face.

“Always,” he breathed. 

She mustered up a smile, harder to do as smoke began to fill the small space and the flames were growing closer as they began to eat at the wood counter.

“Lay down cover fire,” she instructed. “We’re gonna go out the back and I’ll lift us up. Don’t,” she pressed her knuckles to his cheek, “leave my side.”

“Never,” he promised. 

Pidge scooted herself out from beneath him and Lance carefully knelt, using the large bulk of one of the fallen aliens as a shield. 

And he open fired. 

“G-go,” Pidge coughed, making her way towards the flames and hauling her cloak up over her mouth and nose. “Back up.”

Lance did so, coughing now too as unlike her he couldn’t filter out the smoke, still holding down the trigger. 

They got behind the counter and stepped into the back alley.

Where the gang leader was waiting for them.

He looked murderous, wreathed by the burning tent and flames dancing across his spikes.

“You little bitch,” he snarled, gaze drawn to Pidge and then to the bag hooked on her belt and visible through the folds of her cloak. 

The scaultrite she’d grabbed from under their noses. 

“Hey!” Lance snapped, gun trained on the large alien now. “Don’t talk to her like that.”

“I’ll say whatever I want, Golden Eye.” He smirked. “You won’t remember it soon anyw—”

He cut off with a choked scream as Pidge’s shock katar flew straight and true and discharged in his ugly face. 

“Idiot,” she muttered. 

Why did bad guys always talk so much?

“Lance,” she called him over, drawing the now grappling hook back to her. “Hold on to me.”

And just as he had every time before Lance knew instinctively where to wrap his arms about her and she had them lifting into the air up the side of the building that made the alley behind them.

When they landed Pidge held out her hand and Lance took it without hesitation.

“We run,” she said, meeting his eyes. “And we don’t stop.”

He nodded.

And they ran. 

They flew across rooftops as Pidge directed them, closer and closer to their relay. Even though she knew after a point that Lance had forgotten _why_ he was doing so he didn’t let go of her hand, didn’t stop. 

Something in him told him to trust her. 

It was the most comforting thing she could find in this situation.

They ran and jumped and scaled up and down buildings; anything to confuse the gang members, to cover their trail, to make a harder target because no matter how far they went she could make out gang members down below, up above, and always closing in.

And they just kept running.

Half an hour later Pidge had a stitch in her side and Lance’s steps were starting to stumble and there was a dark stain spreading on the back of his robe as his wounds no doubt protested the rough handling.

But just as she was about to call a halt, pray that they could have a few minutes of reprieve, there was a _crack_ in the air Pidge would recognize that sound anywhere.

Their lift was here in the form of a cloaked Blue Lion. 

“Lance,” she panted, standing on the edge of a building that faced outwards into the desert landscape. “We need to jump.”

“Jump?” the word came out high and breathy. 

“Look at me,” she drew his attention, away from the height, from the gang members shouting and words becoming audible. “Do you trust me?”

“Always,” he said immediately, squeezing her hand. 

“Then jump!”

And then they were falling…

Right into the Blue Lion’s mouth.

And Lance rolled, trying to shield her from the impact.

He landed.

On his back.

She felt his breath hitch.

Heard the silent scream.

And then his arms about her, his hand still threaded through her own…

Went limp.

xxx

Pidge sat at Lance’s bedside in the bedroom chamber of the Red Lion, small fingers wrapped tight about his own, and feeling his twitch every few seconds that made her just squeeze them tighter.

Soon, Coran had told her with a comforting smile. Lance should awaken soon. And, if all had gone right…

He’d have his memory back.

Coran had known the alien species immediately responsible for Lance’s memory loss. It was a paralyzer, he’d said softly, of the venom inside the spikes. It attacked the nervous system, shutting it off piece by piece and creating a compliant subject. It was a Black Market trade item, used often in interrogations. Ultimately, he’d swallowed, it would result in death as it would attack all parts of the brain and the alien’s body would forget how to continue to live.

Fortunately, he’d added before Pidge’s own heart stopped, Lance was not yet near that stage. And while his antivenom would be rudimentary with their limited supplies, he was confident that he could make one since Pidge had brought back spikes still full of venom.

It had still been touch and go for nearly two days as Coran kept Lance sedated — it would help to slow the venom, he explained — and allow him to find the proper mixture of the antidote. She, Hunk and Shiro had all contributed blood samples to test it on and a few hours ago they’d finally hit upon what Coran said was the right combination. Lance had been given the antivenom and had been taken off the sedatives as Coran reported that scans showed different parts of his brain activity coming back online.

Pidge had barely left his side through it all, being forced only once by the conjoined efforts of Shiro and Allura to take a shower and eat a meal with the group around the campfire on the habitable planet they’d set up on for Coran to work. Hunk too was a constant shadow at Lance’s side, constantly smoothing back his brow and telling him constant stories of their hijinks and begging him to please wake up, to please be okay.

And any minute now he’d finally wake up. 

He would be disoriented, Coran had warned, and his memory might still be patchy. He may think he was still in the warehouse. It was why, despite Hunk’s pleading, that Coran insisted Pidge alone be there when Lance awoke (although they were all clustered outside the door and ready to enter at a moment’s notice).

Pidge just prayed Lance remembered everything. 

Remembered _her._

And now…

His hand twitched in hers again and his eyes, which had been racing beneath closed lids, fluttered ever so. 

“Lance,” she breathed. “Lance, please…”

His eyes fluttered again and this time they remained half-lidded, dark, hazy blue obs staring past her. 

He blinked once.

Twice.

His brow creased as his gaze landed on her.

“Pidge?” he croaked. “What…?”

“Oh!” Pidge threw herself forward, wrapping her arms as best she could around him. 

A slow, heavy hand not captured in her own came up and patted her back, and he made a comforting noise in the back of his throat. “You… you okay?”

“You idiot,” she sniffled. “I’m asking you that.”

“‘m okay,” he mumbled. “Don’t… don’t remember…”

Pidge froze.

“...getting out of the warehouse."

Pidge started breathing again.

"What,” he swallowed thickly, throat still scratchy, "what happened?”

“You got hurt,” she said quietly. “And… and things got a little confusing. But you protected me. And I protected you.”

“‘Course,” Lance slurred, eyes fluttering, exhaustion pulling him back to sleep. “‘ll… always protect you, Pidgeon. And you’ll,” he blinked up at her, lips curving into a gentle smile, “you’ll always protect me. Right?”

“Always,” Pidge choked out, tears stinging her eyes and she let them come, joy and relief plipping onto Lance’s cheeks in little rain droplets. 

She squeezed their conjoined hands, the word now promise, a pledge, a declaration, and she whispered it once more.

“Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> Commission fic for ninjawrites (6k-7k and I do not math well ;p) back from August of last year. Always (haha ;p) love writing Pidge and Lance and this was no exception. I hope you enjoyed it too :) 
> 
> I had a little run on amnesia-like fics during this time last year and while I don't normally plug fics in author's notes, not a lot of people showed for the final chapter (and I was pretty proud of it xD) and so if you like memory-loss/amenesia fics and wouldn't mind taking a look and leaving a comment, _[Never Forget (Until It's All You Can Do)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24439498/chapters/58969063)_ would love a little love too ♥
> 
> If you enjoyed the fic please do take a moment to leave a comment with what you liked about it. What takes you **minutes** to read can take an author **hours** , if not **days, weeks** or even **months** to create. Please show your authors appreciation for all their hard work, free of any cost to you. It only takes a minute; share a favorite scene, a line of dialogue, a reaction… the possibilities on things to comment on are endless. Thank you to those who do so, it means a lot ♥ You guys are the reason I continue to still make myself post and I appreciate you more than words can say. Thank you ♥
> 
> 💥 **(Like my works? Want to read even MORE? Visit my[Tumblr, icypantherwrites](https://icypantherwrites.tumblr.com)!)💥**  
> 


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